Claude
by Teobi
Summary: aka 'The Little Lobster Who Could'. Claude's Daddy goes missing one day, vanished from the underwater world forever. But is he really gone? Claude doesn't think so. Bravely, he sets out to find his father- and a certain blue eyed, red shirted sailor man soon becomes involved in the courageous little crustacean's crusade.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: Hello, folks! Yes, this story is back. I was a little dissatisfied with it when I originally began uploading it many moons ago because I felt it was missing something. (Like a plot.) I mean, I had the bare bones of the idea but I don't think I was ready to write another multi-chapter at that point in time. So I took it off ffnet and filed it away, 'for future reference'. HUGE thanks to those who were interested enough to occasionally ask me how 'Claude' was doing (Cristy W-S)- you made sure I kept thinking about it. And now that I haven't written anything for a while (at least not for Gilligan's Island), I thought it was a good time to resurrect this little fic and let Claude have his moment in the sun. And so here is 'Claude', aka the little lobster who could. I hope you all enjoy this offering of mine :)**

**Claude **

_**Prologue**_

_The Lagoon_

I can still remember clearly the day that Momma told me my Daddy was missing. At first it didn't seem like much of a surprise, because Daddy would often disappear for a couple of days, crawling into the murk without so much as a goodbye, his long feelers twitching in anticipation of all the plankton he was going to eat that day with his buddies, Stalkeye and Six Legs. But he always came home eventually, a little slower and a little fatter, waving away Momma's protests with a casual pincer. "It's what we do," he'd say. "You can't teach an old crustacean new tricks."

So when Momma came to my rock one morning while I was studying a new mollusk shell I'd found and told me Daddy was gone -for _good_ this time- at first I laughed it off. "He'll be back," I said, confidently. Stupid me! Momma waved her feelers anxiously. She looked like she was trying to find the right words. When she finally spoke again, her voice was so gentle that it had the effect of scaring me instead of comforting me. "No, he won't," she replied, quietly. "Stalkeye and Six Legs came back on their own. They say your Daddy wandered out towards the edge of the reef. They say he got taken up into the Big Blue."

Now that was something I didn't want to hear. No-one in their right mind wants to hear about the Big Blue. A cold shudder went all the way down the inside of my shell and I began to shiver violently. When you went to the Big Blue, you never came back. And the scary thing was, the old ones said the Big Blue could get you at any time. _Any_ time, whether you were ready or not. One time a whole crab family got taken up into the Big Blue, and no-one ever saw or heard from them again.

But I loved my Daddy. My Daddy was my hero, even if he hardly ever took much notice of us any more. Even if bottom feeding with his buddies was more important to him these days than even his own family. Even if he did think I was a sissy because I stayed home collecting mollusk shells instead of going out on plankton raids every night. Daddy was my Daddy. Momma needed him, and _I _needed him.

And I was going to find him.

Big Blue or not.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! Thank you for your kind reviews and thanks to Sideshow Cellophane for bringing me down to earth by not even realising that the story was gone in the first place! We now begin with Chapter 1. The story will alternate between chunks written from Claude's POV and chunks written the 'regular' way about Gilligan and the castaways. As always, thank you for reading and thank you twice if you choose to leave a comment!**

**T x**

**Chapter 1**

_Claude_

When I told Momma I was going out to look for Daddy, she tried everything she could to stop me. She put her pincers on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes.

"No, my little shell collector," she said, gravely. "I'm not about to lose you, too."

"You won't lose me," I assured her. "I'm smart. Aren't I, Momma? You're always saying how smart I am."

"Smart because you can tell shells apart," Momma smiled. "Not because you know how to take care of yourself on your own."

That hit me hard. Most other lobsters my age had already left the safety of their rocks and it didn't take much to remind me that I still lived at home. But that only made me more determined to find Daddy. It was time I grew up and became a man.

"Stalkeye and Six Legs didn't _see_ my Daddy get taken into the Big Blue, they just _said_ he did," I protested, meeting Momma's eye.

Momma looked surprised. "Do you think they would lie about a thing like that?" she asked.

"Well, no, but..." I pictured Stalkeye and Six Legs. They weren't always the most reliable of fellows. For one, they were a little fond of seaweed juice and were always getting in trouble with their wives, who were friends with Momma, and who would stand and gossip for hours with Momma about what lazy good for nothings they were married to, while Momma tried to ignore them and get on with her chores.

"Think about it," I said. "I know they're Daddy's friends and they wouldn't make up a story like that, but if they didn't actually see him get taken, there's a chance he's still out there, wandering around on the reef. Maybe he just got lost."

"Your Daddy wouldn't get lost," Momma said quietly. "The reason why I married your Daddy was because he always knew where he was going." Her eyes lowered on their stalks. "Of course, that was then..."

I ignored the wistful tone in her voice. I didn't want her to start thinking about the old days, when she and Daddy were young and had the fathomless depths at their feet. I wanted to focus on the positive. "Think, Momma," I said, as bravely as I could. "If there's just the smallest chance, then it's worth taking the risk." I fixed her with my best beady eyed stare. "How would we feel if it turned out Daddy had fallen into a hole or got trapped under a clam and I didn't at least _try_ to find him?"

Momma sighed long and loud, and a tiny sprat that had been sifting the currents for food shot away from her, startled.

"I'm old enough, Momma," I pleaded. "Stiffback left home two weeks ago, and he's doing okay."

Momma's expression grew as soft as a lobster's could. "I know, baby," she said, soothingly. "But you're my son, Stiffback isn't. I worry about you."

"And I'm worried about Daddy," I told her, firmly. "At least let me try? I promise I won't go too far beyond the reef. I know the dangers. In school we learned all about The Cage Of Death and the Moving Pillars of Doom. Most of us thought those were scare stories told so we would stay out of trouble, not because they were true."

Momma stroked my feelers gently. "You kids today," she said. "So sceptical. You don't believe anything until you see it."

"Only babies believe all that stuff," I grinned.

"That doesn't mean there's no truth in them at all," Momma replied, quick as anything. "Plenty of our kind have left home and never come back. It's a fish-eat-fish world out there."

I smiled back, and hoped it made me look older than I felt. "Will you at least let me try?" I begged. "For Daddy's sake?"

Momma sighed again. I could see her struggling with her emotions. But at last she nodded- a small, almost imperceptible bob of her head. I tried hard not to squeal with joy like a little kid. "But I want you to be careful," she said, seriously. "At the first sign of danger, however small, come _straight_ home. You hear me, my little shell collector?"

"I hear you, Momma," I agreed.

"You're all I have," Momma said then, but I almost didn't hear her over the sudden, excited pounding of my heart.

oOoOoOo

"Gilligaaann!"

The Skipper's voice boomed across the clearing, bringing the First Mate running.

"What is it, Skipper?" Gilligan skidded to a halt at the head of the table where the Skipper sat with a checkered napkin tucked into his collar and a knife and fork clutched tightly in each meaty fist. In front of him was a plate bearing three miniscule shrimps and one lone mussel.

"What do you call this?" the Skipper grumbled, pointing at the plate with his knife.

"A knife," Gilligan answered, puzzled.

"No, this!" Skipper jabbed at the plate with his other hand.

"A fork," Gilligan replied. He looked over at Mary Ann, looking perky in her headscarf and mini dress. The smiling farm girl was standing a small distance away, holding the empty tray upon which she had brought the Skipper his snack.

"No! _This_!" Skipper shouted, banging his fist down so hard that the plate jumped into the air and the shrimps looked like they were dancing.

"A table!" Gilligan beamed, clapping his hands together. "Cute game, Skipper!"

The Skipper took a deep breath while Mary Ann tried not to giggle. "Gilligaaaannn..."

Gilligan started pointing at successive items dotted around the table. "And this is a cup, and this is a spoon, and this is the salt, and this..."

The Skipper reached up with his captain's hat and whacked Gilligan on the head. "And you're starting to get on my nerves already!" he bellowed. "I meant _this_, on my plate! Take a good look- or maybe I ought to bring you the Professor's magnifying glass so you can actually see it!"

Rubbing his head, Gilligan leaned down over the table until his face was practically in the Skipper's lunch. "There's not much there, Skipper," he said, prodding the listless shrimps with his fingertip.

"That's right, Gilligan, there's not much there."

"Are you on another diet?" Gilligan asked, pushing the lone mussel around the plate as though it were a tiny toy car. "Because if you are, the last one didn't work."

"Gilligan!" The Skipper got to his feet so quickly that the First Mate skittered backwards across the sand, his arms flailing, almost colliding with Mary Ann. "When was the last time you checked the shrimp nets? Or the lobster traps, or the fish traps for that matter?"

"The last time I checked, they were empty!" Gilligan protested.

The Skipper folded his huge arms and glared at Gilligan. "And when was that, precisely?"

Gilligan started counting on his fingers. He pulled a frown of intense concentration, looking upwards at the sky as he muttered under his breath.

"I think it was Wednesday," he said, finally. "Or maybe Tuesday, if I'm to be precise."

"A whole _week_ ago?" the Skipper blustered.

Gilligan counted his fingers again. "Five days," he corrected, and Mary Ann nodded in agreement.

The Skipper's stomach rumbled hungrily. "Five days is as good as a week," he sighed, pitifully.

"The Professor said we shouldn't overfish the lagoon," Gilligan countered.

Mary Ann looked up at him and again she nodded, her pigtails bouncing merrily. "That's right, he did."

"See?" said Gilligan. He met Mary Ann's eyes and they both nodded in unison like toy dogs in the back of a car.

The Skipper sighed and let his shoulders slump. "How can we possibly overfish the lagoon? There are only seven of us, and there's a whole sea full of fish out there!" He gestured up and over the trees in the general direction of the ocean.

Both Gilligan and Mary Ann lowered their eyes and looked pointedly at the Skipper's very large stomach. It took a moment for the Skipper to catch on, and then his face began to redden.

"I do _not_ eat any more than the rest of you," he grumbled. His stomach promptly grumbled in disagreement.

"Snacks between meals?" Mary Ann smiled.

"I need the energy," Skipper pouted.

"For what, napping?" asked Gilligan, impudently.

"For working!" Skipper shouted. "This isn't just fat, you know!" He patted his rotund belly with both hands. Gilligan and Mary Ann watched intently as the expanse of flesh was set in motion, rolling and rippling under the Skipper's polo shirt for what seemed like an eon before finally wobbling to a halt.

Mary Ann covered her mouth and coughed politely.

"I've seen jello with less oomph," said Gilligan.

"Yes, well." The Skipper blushed. "So I'm a little on the cuddly side."

"Try 'chubby'," Gilligan persisted.

The Skipper yanked the napkin out of his collar and threw it down onto the table. "Gilligan," he said, slowly and deliberately. "Go and check the lobster traps."

"But the Professor said..."

The Skipper waggled his eyebrows and smiled sweetly. "Gilligan, I'm going to count to ten."

"But, Skipper..."

"One...two..."

Gilligan began to sidle around Mary Ann, eyeing the Skipper warily.

"TEN!" yelled the Skipper. He made as if to rush Gilligan, but the First Mate was already half way down the lagoon path, his hand firmly clamped onto his hat, sand clouds swirling in his wake.

"Skipper," Mary Ann chided, her eyes twinkling with merriment.

"It's about time he remembered who's in charge here," the Skipper grunted. He picked up a sorry looking shrimp and bit it in two, chomping harder than was strictly necessary on the remains of the tiny little creature until he remembered at the last minute that he hadn't taken the shell off.

oOoOoOo

_Claude_

I set out with plenty of high hopes, but I won't lie and say that the journey was easy. As I made my way through the neighborhood I began to see familiar faces. Some of them were my friends, but most of them were friends of Momma and Daddy. Without exception, each one of them stopped what they were doing and stared at me as though a two headed stranger had just moseyed into town. I couldn't figure it out- surely I hadn't turned into such a recluse that they'd all forgotten who I was? And then the penny dropped. I realised that everyone must have heard about my Daddy's disappearance. Why, it was probably the talk of the neighborhood, judging by everyone's reactions to me! Even Momma's friend Rosacea who was married to Six Legs scuttled down off her rock and skittered into the shadows when she saw me coming up the street. I couldn't believe it! What did she think I was going to do, blame Six Legs for my Daddy going missing? What did any of them think I was going to do? Snap their heads off and dance on their dead bodies in revenge for my Daddy being gone? I wasn't like that. I've never been like that. I'm just a little guy who collects mollusk shells and loves his Daddy and wants to find him. That's all I would have said, if anyone had wanted to ask.

I resolved not to look at anyone any more. I didn't want anyone feeling sorry for me, and I sure as urchins' eggs didn't want to end up feeling sorry for myself! I put my head down, tucked in my feelers and forged ahead on my own. I picked my way across ribbons of pale sand, clambered over craggy wedges of coral reef and slid under dark, sinister shelves of overhanging rock, feeling the invisible eyes of the shadow dwellers boring into me as I scuttled by. It was hard going, and sometimes I was scared, but all the while I concentrated on thoughts of my Daddy. Wherever he was, I hoped with all my heart that he could hear me.

I can't tell you how much time went by because I had sort of drifted off into a trance, but after a while I looked up to find myself in completely unfamiliar territory. All of the comforting sights and sounds of my own neighbourhood had been replaced by an eerie kind of nothingness with its own taste and smell- a kind of briny snap that burned the tongue and inflamed the spaces behind my eyes. I turned in a slow circle and realised I couldn't even judge distance any more. Everything seemed to be close up and far away at the same time. Everywhere was misty, the solidity of the ground blending into the swirling clouds of silt until there was just this one huge expanse of murky green with no definable edges. As I picked my way along, a huge frond of dark brown seaweed suddenly waved in front of my face like a beckoning claw. I jumped out of my shell and screamed like a baby squid, but after a while it became hypnotizing to watch the frond waving slowly back and forth, back and forth, alive in its own way, but forever at the mercy of the playful currents. A small fish of some kind swam out of the frond and even he looked dizzy.

I blinked my eyes and snapped to. I pushed my way through the frond of seaweed to find yet more fronds of seaweed behind it- a whole forest of seaweed stretching as far as the eye could see, and a whole mess of fish and other creatures feasting on the leaves and all the bits of junk that had collected in and underneath them. After all that nothingness, I found my stomach rumbling. I could do with a bite to eat myself!

I began scavenging under the fronds for juicy tidbits. Here was a morsel, there was a morsel. I was so hungry that I shovelled the food into my mouth with both claws. It was like an endless banquet, one tasty delicacy after another. I ate and ate until the sides of my shell began to squeak. I was so hungry that as I scurried from one frond to the next I accidentally pushed a foraging cuttlefish out of the way. Boy, was he mad! He flashed all kinds of colours at me and wouldn't even let me apologise. Safe in the knowledge that Momma couldn't see me, I flipped him the pincer. That just made him angrier, and he lit up like a whole swarm of phytoplankton. For one brief moment I forgot about the situation I was in, and I started to laugh. The cuttlefish saw me laughing and went crazy, flashing all over the place, which only made me laugh even more. I laughed at that angry cuttlefish until my stomach hurt. I laughed so hard I almost went blind. The cuttlefish gave me one last angry burst of colour and then he motored away in a huff. I followed him with my gaze, kind of sad in a way to see him go, just because I had found him so funny.

And that's when I saw it.

Through the fronds, or right in the middle of them, I couldn't be sure. But there it was. And it looked just like it did in the picture books at school, dark and mysterious and scary and evil. Something that didn't belong in our world- something that threatened our very lives.

The Cage of Death.

The laughter died in my throat. I didn't know whether to run and hide or go closer and take a look. It was the most frightening thing I'd ever seen. Way more frightening than the invisible shadow dwellers under the rock shelves. At least they were _meant_ to be there. But this thing-

This thing was unreal.

I crept forward. All the delicious food I'd eaten began to churn in my belly until I thought I would spew it all up. But I couldn't turn back - this was what I had come for. This was the thing I had heard so much about. This thing that was somehow connected to the Big Blue, this thing that might be responsible for the loss of my Daddy. I had to go and take a look- there was no other choice. I couldn't turn yellow now, not after coming all this way. What would I tell Momma?

The thick fronds of seaweed parted for me as if they knew what I had to do. They even reached down to stroke my shell as I edged forward with my heart in my mouth. The Cage of Death was a dark, foreboding thing, a mass of ups and downs and rights and lefts with small gaps in between. It scared the heck out of me, but I inched ever closer until right in the centre of that odd, otherworldly construction, I saw a dark huddled shape lying motionless on the floor.

As I stood there wondering what to do next, the huddled shape began to unfold. It rose up off the floor and lifted its head, and two very long feelers began to wave around in the darkness. My racing heart bounced from my mouth to my tail and back again as I realised they were the feelers of a lobster! I hid behind a rock and watched anxiously as the imprisoned lobster probed the roof of the cage with the tapered ends of those wonderfully long feelers, as if he or she had done this a million times before but this time might bring different results. I felt sad for this poor creature, trapped in this Cage of Death. I couldn't take my eyes off it, and I needed to find out who it was without getting trapped in the cage myself.

And then a miracle happened. The light that sometimes reaches down as far as the edge of the world suddenly burst across the sky, more brightly than I'd ever seen it. It shimmered and strobed, creating shafts of welcome light that sliced down through the powdery gloom. The needle sharp rays hit my eyes so quickly that I had to blink several times to clear my vision. I had to take advantage of this moment of good fortune. I looked at the cage, peering intently through the bars at the prisoner who was now bathed in this wonderful light from above. And that was when my heart came to an abrupt stop.

That was when everything came to an abrupt stop.

Because that poor imprisoned lobster was my Daddy.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Claude_

"Daddy! It's me, Claude! I've come to rescue you!"

"Claude! My son, my brave little boy! I knew I could count on you- I never gave up hope!"

That's how I'd imagined it happening, all the while I crawled across that ocean bed, but in the event of it that isn't what happened at all. Far from feeling joyful and excited, I felt nothing but a sense of trepidation. I stood rooted to the spot, staring silently at my Daddy, while my Daddy, bathed in a shaft of blue/gold light, stared just as silently back at me. He looked sad and lost, this once proud lobster, and smaller than I'd ever seen him. I don't mind telling you, the sight of him was a shock. An awkward silence hung between us, so thick you could almost taste it.

Finally I spoke, because one of us had to say something, and I didn't think it was going to be him.

"Daddy," I whispered. "Daddy- you're alive!"

It was as if I had taken the plug out of a deep sea geyser. Daddy burst into tears and clung to the bars of his cage, his feelers poking out through the holes, desperately reaching towards me. His wracking sobs broke my heart.

"Claude," he blubbered. "Claude, my son, my boy. Don't come any closer, or this thing will get you too!"

His tremulous words brought me out of my hiding spot and into the light. "No, Daddy," I said, as firmly as I could. "I came to find you and take you home, and that's just what I'm gonna do!"

I moved forward on shaky legs, but my Daddy raised his voice and stopped me in my tracks.

"No!" he snapped, his tone of voice changing so abruptly that I nearly fell over. "I'm telling you, Claude, this thing will trick you! Take it from me- once you're inside there's no escape!"

I reached my feelers out and touched the ends of his feelers, just like we used to do when I was a baby. "Daddy, get one thing straight- I'm not leaving here without you." I tried to speak in a tone of authority that I hoped would match his, but I don't mind saying that I failed pretty miserably. Far from sounding brave and intrepid, I ended up sounding like the barnacle encrusted hinge of a geriatric oyster.

Daddy opened his mouth to start arguing with me, but sadly, he didn't get very far. Because that was when it all happened- that was when all hell broke loose.

A huge underwater wave came thundering out of nowhere and hurtled towards us. The Cage of Death rocked violently from side to side and my Daddy was ripped away from the bars and sent flying onto his back. Before I could get a chance to cling to the nearest object for support, the wave sent me rolling and tumbling across the ground. I banged my shell on rocks and got myself tangled up in seaweed. A giant cloud of sand obscured my vision so that I couldn't even tell which way was up. It was chaos, and everyone in the vicinity was affected. Fish streamed past me in a panic, a turtle cartwheeled head over tail and went rolling past me, his eyes wide and fearful. I briefly thought of my old friend Mr. Cuttlefish- if being gently nudged out of the way was enough to send him into a fit of rage, I didn't know what he was going to make of this!

I pulled myself upright and staggered back in what I hoped was the direction of my Daddy. Already dazed and disoriented, I was in the middle of wiping the sand out of my eyes when another unexpected thing happened.

Out of the chaos and tumult loomed two giant murky shapes, moving swiftly and purposefully towards me. I gulped.

The Moving Pillars of Doom.

Well, it had to be, didn't it? All the stories were coming true. I'd already encountered the Cage of Death, and since all the legends were connected, it seemed inevitable that the Moving Pillars of Doom should turn up eventually. I mean, these things were pillars. And they were moving. And I was probably doomed. Makes sense, right?

I didn't know who I was trying to convince. And besides, this was no time for questioning hoary old legends. I was close enough now to see that The Moving Pillars of Doom had reached the Cage of Death, and if I was to save my Daddy from his fate, I couldn't stand around debating with myself.

I had to do something.

And_ fast._

oOoOoOo

The edges of the lagoon glimmered greenly under the canopy of surrounding trees. The waterfall tinkled and splashed and insects hovered lazily just above the water's surface, teasing the fish below.

The peace and quiet was promptly interrupted as Gilligan came stomping down the beach, pouting and complaining. "Gilligan, do this. Gilligan, do that. Gilligan, get me this. Gilligan, get me that. Why always Gilligan? Why always me?" He carried on grumbling to himself as he waded out fully clothed into the shallows, dragging his denim clad legs through clumps of moss and seaweed. Tiny sprats and minnows gathered to gorge on microscopic morsels of food that billowed up and outwards as he passed.

The lobster traps were quite far out into the lagoon, and before long Gilligan was up to his waist in water. "Even the lobsters are starting to stay away," he muttered. "Even those poor guys know the Skipper eats too much!"

Gilligan reached the first trap, a tightly woven cage made out of thin lengths of bamboo. He reached down through the water and grunted as he lifted the trap with both hands, ripping it out of the seaweed. Water cascaded over him, soaking him to the skin. He peered into the trap, spitting salt water off his lips. Inside was a single lobster and a couple of starfish, but the starfish promptly fell out when Gilligan gave the cage a small shake. The imprisoned lobster waved its feelers in agitation, startled by the sudden change in its environment.

"Hey, big feller," Gilligan said. "How ya doing?"

Water glistened on the lobster's purple/blue shell, a shell that would become bright red once it had been boiled in the pan. The wary lobster snapped its claws at Gilligan.

"Well, good day to you too, sir," Gilligan responded, moving his fingers quickly out of the way.

The lobster tried to climb up the inside of the trap but fell off and landed on its back, its spindly legs waving helplessly. Gilligan felt a pang of sympathy for the trapped creature as he watched it struggle to its feet.

"Yeah, I know," he said with a sigh. "I fall down a lot, too."

The First Mate heaved the lobster trap onto his shoulder and headed back towards the shore. He whistled an old sea shanty as he moved through the water, while beneath the surface his feet continued to disturb the peace and tranquility of the sandy bottom. Schools of fish darted away in panic while others crowded forward to feast on the clouds of swirling detritus. Fish collided with fish and a small turtle was flipped over in the commotion before righting itself and drifting away in a daze. Things turned ugly- two crabs got in a fight and a jellyfish stung itself by accident. Mothers herded their children into the safety of the rocks, hiding them in the smallest nooks and crannies they could find.

In the midst of all the pandemonium and unnoticed by almost everyone, a determined little lobster clung tightly to the left leg of Gilligan's denim pants and headed off towards the Big Blue.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Good morning/afternoon/evening! (I don't know about you, but I always say 'good evening' in an Alfred Hitchcock type of voice.) I hope you are all well :)  
Chapters will start to get longer now, as there's a lot that I want to fit in. Thanks guys for your support and encouragement, it's lovely to know that little Claude is loved, he's found a special place in my heart too. I've never agreed with lobsters being cooked alive, I think it's a barbaric practice. Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews, and if you're reading and not reviewing, thank you to you, too. There is someone (ok, a couple of someones, and you may know who you are- I want you to know that a lot of my feelings and thoughts have changed this year and my hand is re-extended in friendship if you want to take it- I won't bite you any more. :) )  
So- on we go with chapter 3, in which MAG have a bit of a heated discussion, and Gilligan comes to a realisation.**

**Chapter 3**

_Claude_

I didn't have time to think. I leapt forward and grabbed a hold of the nearest pillar and I hung on for dear life. Luckily for me the pillar wasn't as solid as I had imagined it would be- it had a soft, flappy skin covering that yielded in the deathly grip of my pincer.

All I could hope for was that it didn't know I was there.

The next minute I was yanked off my feet so hard that I nearly left my shell behind. The murky gloom of my world disappeared and suddenly I was in a whole new one- a waterless one, a hot one, a blindingly bright one. Colours whirled around me, not just blue, oh no- but colours so bright they hurt my eyes and fuddled my brain. Suddenly it was hard to breathe- my gills seized up and I almost blacked out until somehow they readjusted and I was able to take small, gasping breaths, just enough to keep me holding on. I knew from reading books in school that my kind can live outside water for a few days, but I had never wanted to test that theory out. Unfortunately, it looked like that theory had decided to test _me _out instead.

No matter how much I wanted to let go, the thing that kept me holding on was the fact that high above me, my beloved Daddy was trapped in that infernal Cage of Death. It was becoming clear to me that 'The Moving Pillars of Doom' were attached to some sort of creature from the Big Blue, legs of some sort, that propelled the creature along, and that the creature had my Daddy completely at its mercy.

I didn't know what the creature intended to do with my Daddy, or what it would do to me if it found out I was there- but somehow, I didn't think it was going to be good.

oOoOoOo

Gilligan dumped the lobster trap down onto the table in the Supply Hut and stood back as though he'd just returned from a year's hunting in the wilderness. "Well, there it is," he announced with a grand sweep of his arm. "Five whole days' worth of fishing. Don't everybody go crazy!"

The Skipper stared glumly at the lone lobster waving its feelers around inside the trap. "That's barely enough to feed a fly," he moaned.

"That's if the fly got to it before you do," said Gilligan, belligerently.

The Skipper whacked Gilligan over the head with his hat, and they proceeded to start bickering and scuffling. Meanwhile, Mary Ann stood forlornly gazing into the trap.

"One lobster," she said, sadly. "One poor, sad, lonely little lobster. It almost seems a shame to eat you." She watched the lobster as it clambered unsteadily around inside the trap, looking for a way out. All the while, Gilligan and the Skipper kept arguing behind her until she suddenly caught a glimpse of something strange out of the corner of her eye. She looked around and tried to see what it was, but Gilligan was moving around too much, trying to duck the Skipper's flailing cap. "Wait- Gilligan," she said, craning her neck for a better view. "What's that on your leg?"

The First Mate twisted his slender torso and looked around and down. Halfway up the calf of his left pants leg was another lobster- smaller than the one in the trap, but a lobster nonetheless, clinging to the fabric of his pants with one claw clenched tight.

"Aaaargh!" he shrieked, shaking his leg furiously. "It's an ambush!"

The lobster clung on tightly while Gilligan squawked like a parrot and embarked upon a jerky, crazed dance around the hut worthy of any Watubi witchdoctor.

The Skipper followed Gilligan around in a sort of Groucho Marx crouch, holding out his arms while he dodged the First Mate's gangly flailing limbs. "Hold still, Gilligan," he commanded. "Hold still and let me get it off y..._ooooooogh_!" The big man moaned like a harpooned whale as one of Gilligan's flying feet hit him squarely in the stomach. Bent double with his arms around his middle, the Skipper didn't even have a chance to recover before Gilligan spun around again and kicked him soundly in the seat of his pants, sending him sprawling into the sand on his face.

"Sorry, Skipper," Gilligan shouted, his voice wavering up and down as he jumped around. "I just can't seem to shake it loose!"

The lobster, having had enough of Gilligan's erratic gyrating, finally released its grip of its own accord and went pinwheeling into the air. It spun end over end half a dozen times before pointing its feelers to the ground and plummeting back to earth. Mary Ann darted forward with her arms outstretched and the lobster landed safely into a soft towel which she had had the foresight to grab from the table as soon as the battle with the clawed crustacean had begun.

"There," the farm girl said, softly. "You're safe now, little guy."

"Quick thinking, Mary Ann!" Gilligan said, applauding his friend's efforts. "Oh, and great catch, too!"

"Thank you, Gilligan," Mary Ann replied, beaming. "My years of softball practice finally paid off!"

Gilligan and the scowling Skipper returned to the table where Mary Ann now had a bucket of salt water standing by. She plucked the small lobster out of the towel and placed it gently in the bucket. She then turned her attentions to the lobster trap where the larger lobster waited, looking for all the world as if it has been intently watching the proceedings.

Gilligan went over to the bucket and peered over the rim at the small lobster. "Don't you know that hitchhiking is dangerous?" he said, grinning down at the confused creature. "Or maybe you thought I was some kind of water taxi, huh?" He put his finger into the water and began to stir the surface in slow, rhythmic circles.

"Mary Ann, how in the world are we going to feed seven people with just two lobsters?" the Skipper asked worriedly. He tried to ignore Gilligan's babbling, watching closely as Mary Ann carefully opened up the trap.

"It won't be easy, Skipper." The farm girl covered her hand with the towel as the lobster's pincers waved at her in an obvious gesture of warning. "I'll just have to be creative with the..." Mary Ann's conversation with the Skipper was suddenly and rudely interrupted by a crunching sound and a loud yell. She and the Skipper spun around to find Gilligan standing stiff as a statue and howling in silent agony while the small lobster dangled from his hand, attached to his reddening index finger by one of its claws.

"Gilligan!" cried Mary Ann, her hand flying to her mouth.

"What the-?" the Skipper blustered.

"It...bit...me!" the First Mate managed to utter, breathlessly.

This time the Skipper was able to successfully assist his hapless young friend. With a broad and somewhat smug grin, the old sea dog gently prised the lobster's claw open enough to release Gilligan's throbbing finger and then quickly dropped it back into the bucket with a splash before its pincers snapped shut on his own hand.

"How many times have you been told not to play with your food?" the big man chortled.

"I was just saying 'hi'," Gilligan pouted, staring mournfully at the lobster.

Skipper patted him amiably on the shoulder. "It's not a good idea to make friends with it if you're going to eat it," he said, wisely.

Mary Ann plucked the large lobster out of the trap with the towel and brought it over to the bucket. "Skipper's right," she said to Gilligan. "Don't form attachments to these lobsters like you did with Emily the duck when we were all so hungry we would've eaten the palm leaves off the hut roofs. Even if the little one _is_ cute." She dropped the big lobster into the water with the little lobster and folded the towel neatly, placing it back on the table.

"Okay, Mary Ann, but-"

"But nothing," the Skipper barked, effectively cutting Gilligan off in mid-sentence.

The three of them stood round the table and gazed down into the bucket where the two lobsters seemed to be eyeing each other with considerable interest.

"It sure does seem a shame to eat them," Gilligan mused.

"Gilligan, why are you suddenly so concerned with these lobsters when you've eaten a million of them before?" the Skipper asked.

"I dunno," Gilligan shrugged. "These two seem different, that's all."

In the confines of the bucket, in the warm salt water, the small lobster put its feelers out and touched the big lobster. The big lobster returned the gesture, and then it reached out with its huge claws. The small lobster put its own claws out and intertwined them with the big lobster's. The two crustaceans moved closer together and soon they were locked in a watery embrace. A myriad of tiny bubbles fizzed and popped across the water's surface.

"Look, Skipper!" Gilligan slapped his friend repeatedly on the shoulder while he pointed excitedly into the bucket. "They're hugging!"

The Skipper sighed loudly and pointedly. "Gilligan, lobsters don't hug! They're fighting for dominance over their territory. Such as it is," he ended, patting the side of the bucket.

"They're not fighting! They're hugging!" Gilligan was insistent, pulling determinedly on Skipper's arm. "Look! Do you see any fighting? 'Cause I sure don't!"

"Gilligan's right," said Mary Ann, peering into the water. "There's no aggression there. The big one is stroking the small one with its feelers."

"He's sounding out a good spot where he can knock him unconscious," the Skipper guffawed, before falling silent under a withering Mary Ann stare.

"Take a look for yourself," the farm girl said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

The Skipper bent low over the bucket. Beneath the surface of the water, the two lobsters stayed locked together with their claws held tightly around each other. He gave a loud, skeptical harrumph.

"There's no room in there to do anything _but_ hug," he snorted. "I still say they're fighting."

"Maybe we should build them a tank so they have more room," Gilligan suggested, clasping his hands together.

"What for?" the Skipper said, incredulously. "They'll be gone by the end of the day!"

Gilligan's face fell miserably.

"Don't pull that face," the Skipper said, turning away.

"What face?" Gilligan asked.

"That sad face!" Skipper shouted. "That '_don't hurt my animal friends_' face. You know it gets me every time. But we have to eat!"

Gilligan returned his sad gaze to the contents of the bucket. "They're still hugging," he said in a soft tone. "I bet they know each other." He turned his head and looked directly at the Skipper. "I bet they're best friends- like _we _are."

The Skipper threw up his hands. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Gilligan! I refuse to get involved in another one of your crazy crusades! Mary Ann, I'm leaving this hut right now. You can call me when supper is ready but until then, I don't want to hear another word from Doctor Doolittle here about hugging lobsters!" He glared directly at Gilligan, then turned on his heel and stalked smartly towards the door of the Supply Hut. "And don't worry about building that tank, either. You are not keeping my dinner as pets, do you hear me, Gilligan?"

"I hear you, _Skipper_," Gilligan pouted. He gave a mock salute and stuck his tongue out at the hut door as soon as the Skipper was gone.

Mary Ann put her hand gently on Gilligan's arm. "You do pick your moments, Gilligan," she said, with a hint of amusement.

"My moments for what?" The First Mate looked down at his second best friend.

"For goading the Skipper into a frenzy," Mary Ann giggled.

"Well, I didn't _mean_ to make him mad," Gilligan replied. "I really do think those lobsters were hugging." He turned around and looked into the bucket once more. His eyes bugged. "And now it looks like they're having a conversation!"

Mary Ann shook her head and sighed. "Now you _are_ being silly, Gilligan. Who ever heard of lobsters having conversations?"

"These two are," Gilligan replied adamantly. "I bet they're catching up on old news or something."

"Next you'll be telling me they're saying '_don't eat us_'." Mary Ann spoke in a high pitched squeaky voice for the lobsters imagined conversation, but stopped when Gilligan lifted his head and fixed her with an accusatory stare- the kind of accusatory stare that only Gilligan could bestow.

"Well, you sure changed your tune, Mary Ann," he said, tightly. "Five minutes ago, it was 'poor lonely lobster, it's a shame we have to eat him'."

"I'm sorry, Gilligan, I was only teasing you," she said, softly.

"Well, don't," Gilligan told her, firmly.

Mary Ann picked at a corner of the folded towel, pulling at a loose thread with her fingernails. The thread was about seven inches long before she spoke again. "Gilligan, I know how much you love animals, and it's wonderful," she said, gently. "No one cares about them the way you do, and I wish there were more people like you. But you've really picked the wrong time to form an attachment to those lobsters. Everyone is starving! Besides, lobsters, well, they aren't really...well, they're not...they're not strictly _animals_, are they?"

Gilligan shrugged. "They're alive, aren't they? You said yourself the little one is cute. You even agreed with me that they weren't fighting."

Mary Ann stopped picking at the towel and folded her arms defensively. "Yes, all right, Gilligan, they're alive, and the little one _is_ cute, and I don't think they were fighting. But the fact is, people are more important than animals, and people have to eat. Those lobsters are a part of tonight's menu and everyone is hungry for something other than bananas and coconuts. I'm afraid that puts an end to any arguments, whether you like it or..." Mary Ann's voice wavered under Gilligan's continuing stare, "...or not." She finished her sentence weakly and dropped her gaze to the floor.

A few awkward moments elapsed, and then Gilligan piped up again.

"_Why_ are people more important than animals, Mary Ann?"

"Gilligan, I don't know why! They just are!" Mary Ann replied in exasperation.

"So why didn't you let the lobster knock itself out on the floor instead of catching it with the towel? I mean, if you're gonna kill it anyway, what do you care?"

Mary Ann's voice rose a notch. "That's not fair, Gilligan! Besides, you were the one who kicked it into the air into the first place!"

"I didn't kick it, it was on my pants leg and I panicked! I shook it off, I wasn't going to _kill_ it."

"Gilligan, I wouldn't hurt the lobster on purpose!"

"No, you'll just wait until dinner time and throw it in a pan of boiling water. _Alive_!"

Gilligan and Mary Ann faced off across the room, and finally Mary Ann waved her hands in surrender. "Gilligan, please. Let's not argue about this, okay? I'm sorry that the lobsters are going to be eaten, but we've all eaten countless lobsters in the past and they were all cooked the same way and you never said a word about those. You're just trying to make me feel bad because _you've _decided there's something different about these two. Well, I can't help you this time. I have six other mouths to feed, including my own. I don't know what you want me to do, but I know what the Skipper wants me to do, and that's to get dinner ready for this evening."

Gilligan tried one last tactic.

"I thought you were my friend," he pouted.

"I am your friend, Gilligan. But some things are bigger than both of us."

Gilligan humphed loudly and returned his attention to the bucket with an almost dismissive air. He refused to tear his gaze away until he heard the soft click of the hut door closing, then his eyes slid sideways. The empty feel of the room told him that Mary Ann had finally left and now he was all alone.

Alone, but for the two crustaceans huddled in the bottom of the bucket.

"I guess it's just us three now," Gilligan said, quietly. He looked down at the smaller lobster, who seemed for all the world to be looking right back up at him. "Us three against six hungry bellies. I don't know about you guys, but I'm starting to get scared!"


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Do you know, I think we're having an Indian summer here in Liverpool, England. (Birthplace of the Beatles, yeah yeah yeah!) It is absolutely blazing with sunshine today. I took my li'l darlin' Star to the park and she went swimming in the lake, and she met a Harlequin Great Dane who was so tall she could barely reach to sniff his ankles. She walked in and out of his legs, wondering, "who put this skyscraper here?" He was lovely- his name was Elvis and he had big sad eyes and his head was bigger than my whole entire dog. I HEART DOGS!**

**I hope you are having a wonderful day yourself, wherever you are. **

**Here goes with chapter 4- and this is where things start to pick up. As always, thank you so much for reading. Any and all comments are greatly appreciated and all are responded to with gratitude. **

**Chapter 4**

_Claude_

My head was still spinning. I didn't quite know what had happened- I only knew that if lobsters were meant to fly, they'd have given us wings. For about the millionth time that day, I thought I was going to throw up everything I'd ever eaten in my life, and then some. If this was the Big Blue, then they could keep it!

And yet- now that Daddy and I were together again, I found my old insatiable sense of curiosity beginning to stir. If I had thought mollusks were exciting, well they were nothing compared to _these _strange creatures! The owner of the 'pillars of doom' was as long limbed and frail as a brittle star, while his friend was as large and loud as a walrus. And then there was the small one with the head full of dark, fluffy moss who had freed my Daddy from the Cage of Death. Their shiny round eyes were embedded in their faces and their gaping mouths opened and shut repeatedly while I tried to make sense of the noises they made. It seemed to me as though they wasted a lot of energy, but maybe that was how it was in the Big Blue. Maybe it was dangerous for everyone, even the creatures that lived there.

As much as I needed to know more, my curiosity was tempered by my concern for Daddy. He was becoming sad and remorseful, his feelers searching my face for some kind of clue as to how I really felt. He reached for me with his pincers and began crying again, his loud, jagged sobs and salty tears making me feel helpless and awkward. In the middle of a clumsy father-son hug, Daddy promised me there and then that he would give up the seaweed juice, stop hanging around with Stalkeye and Six Legs, and never leave us again.

"I have no excuses, Claude," he blubbered. "I just wanted to feel like a young man again. Your poor mother was always unhappy about me staying out late, so I began staying out later and later just to avoid her wrath. It became a fishes cycle."

"Oh, Daddy, I don't care about any of that," I told him as we held each other tight. "I'm just so happy that you aren't dead. Momma's been so worried about you."

"I've failed you both," Daddy sobbed. "But I promise I'll put things right as soon as we get home. _If_ we get home, that is..."

"We'll get home, Daddy," I said, stroking his head with my feelers. "We'll get home, the two of us, together. I promise."

It didn't escape my attention that all the while Daddy and I were talking and hugging, Brittle Star was staring down at us through the surface of the water. I can't explain it, but instead of feeling afraid, I felt nothing but a sense of calm. Maybe it was something in his sea blue eyes, or maybe it was lobster's intuition, but somehow, I got the feeling that Brittle Star wouldn't hurt us.

Let me digress for a moment. Momma thinks I spend too much time alone, just me and my mollusk collection, but one of the benefits of spending time alone is you get to listen to your own thoughts- you learn to trust your own feelings, because there's no interference, there's nothing else in the way. Like this one time that I sat on a coral outcrop and watched an octopus go by. I could have screamed and panicked like Momma and her friends would have done. I could have brought attention to myself by flailing around like a crazy thing. Instead I sat there without moving and watched the octopus swim past, marvelling at how elegant and graceful it was. Sure, its beak could crush a little guy like me and suck out my insides in one slurp if it was hungry enough. But I figured if that was how I was gonna go, at least my last sight would be a beautiful one. I'd go out with a serene look on my face instead of an embarrassing one like a little sprat who blows too many bubbles in class!

The point I'm trying to make is that I trusted my instincts about that octopus, even though it was the enemy, even though years of conditioning were telling me to run away. I chose to trust what my gut was telling me, which was to remain calm and positive and in control. And that old octopus sailed past me without even looking at me, as if I wasn't even there. He got so close I counted all of his suckers and waved at a couple of barnacles that were stuck fast to his belly, and then he was gone.

I just had to trust my instincts again, the way they were telling me Brittle Star wasn't dangerous, and hope that they were right.

Daddy and I looked up at Brittle Star through the water and he looked down at us with his sea blue orbs that shimmered like exotic jewels. It was then that I decided we were going to try and get his attention. With my heart once more in my mouth, hoping that I wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of my short little life, I lifted my pincer and waved at him.

oOoOoOo

Gilligan stared forlornly into the bucket. "'_Some things are bigger than both of us_'?" he muttered. "Yeah, like the Skipper's stomach. I can't believe Mary Ann would take his side, but I guess it's easy to take a side _that_ big." He heaved a great sigh and shook his head at the two lobsters. "Don't worry, guys. I don't care what anyone else thinks, _I _know you were hugging, _and_ talking. I promise I won't let anyone eat you." He made as if to pat the surface of the water, then pulled his hand back gingerly, like a cat retracting its paw. "As long as you promise not to bite me, that is," he chided, wagging his bruised finger at them.

The lobsters broke out of their embrace. Scrabbling for purchase on the smooth sides of the bucket, they braced themselves on their pincers, turned their beady eyes upwards and looked straight through the water at Gilligan as if they had heard and understood every word.

And then the little lobster waved at him.

Gilligan blinked several times and rubbed his eyes. He looked around in case there was someone standing behind him, then pointed at himself. "Me?" he mouthed. "You mean me?"

The little lobster waved again, flicking its feelers up and down as if it were nodding its head.

Gilligan began to babble, his chin moving up and down like a ventriloquist's dummy. "Oh, boy. Oh boy, oh boy." His eyes grew large and round. "Oh boy. Wait 'til I tell...oh boy! Skip..." He began to call for the Skipper but then clamped both hands firmly over his mouth. "I can't tell the Skipper," he mumbled. "He doesn't believe me anyway. All he wants to do is eat them!"

The little lobster blinked its eyes.

"You didn't hear that," said Gilligan, apologetically.

The little lobster sank down under the protective claw of the larger lobster.

"Oh. I guess you did," Gilligan murmured. "Sorry."

Gilligan drummed his fingers on the table and began looking around the Supply Hut for inspiration. As he scanned the shelves full of supplies, his eyes alighted on the array of knives set out for the preparation of dinner. Sharp, gleaming knives that Mary Ann used to chop vegetables, gut fish, and cut fruit into decorative slices. Next to the knives stood a large pot, shining in a shaft of afternoon sunlight. The First Mate's throat went dry and he swallowed past the uncomfortable lump that had lodged there. He imagined someone pushing his own head into a vat of boiling water. Maybe a headhunter, his painted face and angry, warlike expression making him unrecognisable as a thinking, feeling human being. He imagined the searing heat of the water stripping the skin from his cheeks and bubbling into his eyes and nose. He wondered how long it would take to die and how much it would hurt before that happened. The thought of these two helpless lobsters suffering the same fate at the hands of the friendly castaways was enough to make up his mind.

Shaking the horrible image out of his head, Gilligan grabbed the handle of the bucket and lifted it off the table. "Come on, fellas," he said, excitedly. "We're gettin' outta here!"

Full of renewed vigor, Gilligan hugged the bucket to his chest and ran for the door. He bumped it open with his bony shoulder. Water slopped over the rim of the bucket, soaking his sleeves to the elbow. He made a beeline across the clearing, heading for the lagoon path. Ginger was just returning from a walk and Gilligan shot past her so fast that her perfect hairstyle blew across her face and her slinky dress wrapped tightly around her legs.

"Gilligan!" she cried, haughtily. "Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry, Ginger, can't stop!" Gilligan shouted back. He turned the corner around the hut he shared with the Skipper and suddenly screeched to a halt, his face falling in dismay. There at the head of the path stood the Skipper himself with his beefy arms folded across his ample chest.

"I _thought_ you might try something!" Skipper hollered. "I've known you long enough, Little Buddy! Now you put those lobsters right back where you found them, or there'll be trouble!"

"Well, I found them in the sea, so that's where I'm gonna put them back!" Gilligan cried, defiantly.

"I meant, in the Supply Hut!" Skipper shouted, but too late. Gilligan had already done an about turn and was now heading in the opposite direction. As he flew past Ginger again, her hair and dress ruffled the other way until she looked like she'd been standing in a wind tunnel.

"_Gilligan_!" she screamed, peevishly.

"Sorry, Ginger! I'll make it up to you!" Gilligan yelled back. He raced for the nearest path he could think of, the one that led deep into the jungle. But just as he reached the edge of the clearing, Thurston Howell III stepped out in front of him. Gilligan skidded to another sand spraying halt. Water spilled out of the bucket all over his face and down his front, soaking him right through to the skin.

"Mr. Howell, get out of my way!" he ordered, blinking salt water out of his eyes and spitting it out of his mouth.

"My dear boy, whose side do you think I'm on?" The smiling millionaire crooned his words in a smug, oily tone. "I steadfastly _refuse_ to eat another wretched banana when there's fresh lobster on the menu!" He lunged forward towards Gilligan, fingers grasping and clawing for the bucket. Gilligan quickly turned around and hugged the bucket to his chest with one lanky arm while he pointed over Mr. Howell's shoulder with an outstretched finger- the unbruised one.

"Look Mr. Howell, there's some money!" he yelled, waving at the sky.

Instinctively the millionaire turned around, his darting eyes glassy with greed. Just as quickly he realised he'd been duped- by _Gilligan_, no less- and spun through a full 360 degrees, his face purple with indignation. The First Mate was, of course, nowhere to be seen. "Gilligan!" Howell barked into thin air. "Gilligan, my boy, you come back here with my main course or I'll administer such a thrashing to your rear end you'll wish you'd never been born!"

Ginger, who was sashaying past at that very minute, turned her windswept head and fixed her big green startled eyes onto the flustered millionaire.

"Mr. Howell!" she declared, tutting.

Mr. Howell immediately backed down. His expression turned as contrite as a small boy caught pulling the wings off a fly, or a banker caught dipping into an old lady's savings account. "Yes, well..." he mumbled. "That boy certainly does know how to get my dander up. I believe cocktail hour shall commence a little earlier this evening!"

Gilligan, meanwhile, was already a good way along the path, heading deeper and deeper into the jungle. Inside the bucket the two lobsters swayed and bumped against each other, the worst of their knocks cushioned by the small amount of water that still remained. When finally he began panting for breath, Gilligan shortened his gazelle-like strides to a gentle jog. He concluded that no one could possibly still be after him. He reasoned that even the Professor wouldn't pursue him for this long. In all probability the man of science would have been tempted away from the chase by a fern, or something equally fascinating, by now.

Then again, hunger made people do things they normally wouldn't do, and even a mild mannered man like the Professor had his limits.

"We'll have to be on our guard," Gilligan muttered to the lobsters in the bucket. "You guys better keep a lookout too." His lips set into a thin line. "And I better get you some more water soon, or you really will be..." he gulped and shook his head. "Never mind."

Gilligan came at last to a pile of rocky boulders at the base of a small cliff. He set the bucket down in the shade and flopped onto the ground. He slumped against the cool rock, removed his hat and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. "I'm bushed!" he gasped. He spread his legs out in front of him and stared up at the sky, watching spots dance in front of his eyes. A quiet tapping on the side of the bucket finally brought him back to his senses and he sat up straight, pushing himself upright with slightly shaky arms.

The little lobster was now standing on the bigger lobster's back. His feelers were creeping over the rim of the bucket. Startled, Gilligan yelped and drew away from the bucket with a slight shudder, but then curiosity got the better of him and he leaned forward to peer in amazement at the two creatures.

"Who _are_ you?" he asked, in the tone of voice he unconsciously used when he met new animals- a tone of reverence and awe.

The lobster seemed to wink at him, or it could have been the sun glinting off that beady little eye. But what happened next could not be argued with or denied. As clear as a ship's bell, Gilligan heard a tiny voice come floating out of that strange alien head with its plethora of interlocking plates, mysterious eyes on stalks, and long, pointed feelers.

"I'm Claude," the little lobster said, proudly. "And this here is my Daddy."


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello there, beautiful! If you are still reading this story, then Claude thanks you from the bottom of his little lobster heart. Thank you if you've left a review telling that chowderhead Teobi what you think. (Of the story- not of her, that's a whole other kettle of fish altogether.) And if you haven't left a review but you've been thinking about it, just hit that little review button and I will be sure to come and do the same for you!**

**So, on with Chapter 5- in which the castaways have a conflab, and Gilligan and Claude try their darndest to make sense of each other. (Good luck, Claude!)**

**Chapter 5**

The rest of the castaways were gathered in a restless huddle around the bamboo table. Every now and again the heated discussion was interrupted by the gruesome sounds of the Skipper's ample stomach rumbling and gurgling like a blocked drain. Mrs. Howell visibly blanched and edged toward her husband with a look of mild horror.

"I'd see a doctor about that if I were you, Captain," she muttered, primly.

"I can't help it, Mrs. Howell, I'm so hungry!" the big man wailed.

Ginger folded her slender arms across her middle and pouted. "Why is it that everything always has to be ruined by Gilligan having one of his episodes? Why can't we just carry on without him?"

The Skipper looked at the movie star, a weary look upon his broad, weatherbeaten features. "In case you hadn't noticed, Ginger, Gilligan ran away with our supper. We _can't _carry on without him!"

"Well, why can't one of you men go and catch a fish?" Ginger's pout grew more and more impressive, her lower lip jutting out like the cow catcher on a locomotive engine.

"Because according to the egghead," said Mr. Howell, pointing at the Professor, "we've caught all the fish in the lagoon and there aren't any more!"

The Professor fixed the millionaire with an indulgent smile, the sort he reserved for simpletons that had no hopes of ever understanding logic and reason. "I didn't say that, Mr. Howell," he explained. "What I said was, we mustn't overfish the lagoon, we need to let the stocks replenish themselves."

"My stocks don't have trouble replenishing themselves," Mr. Howell boasted.

"That's because no one is eating your stocks," the Professor replied, the smile widening on his face.

"Oh, they've tried! Believe me Professor, they've tried!" Mr. Howell threw back his head and brayed happily like a donkey at a trough full of apples before Mrs. Howell prodded him gently with her elbow. He swallowed his guffaws and patted Lovey's arm, making cooing noises at her in his haste to get back in her good books.

The Skipper's stomach thundered again, his polo shirt visibly rippling. "Well, I don't care what anyone thinks, I'm going out there to find Gilligan and bring our dinner back. I'm sick and tired of him playing us all for fools!"

Mary Ann, who had been trying to keep out of trouble, stepped forward between Ginger and the Professor and placed her hand gently on the Skipper's arm.

"Skipper, you know Gilligan doesn't lie about his feelings," she said, softly.

The Skipper sighed heavily. "I know he doesn't lie, but you have to admit, he does know how to manipulate us with those big, sad eyes of his. All he has to do is look at me a certain way, and he makes me feel like the biggest darned jerk on the planet!"

"But I genuinely don't think he sees it that way," Mary Ann smiled. "You know Gilligan better than any of us, Skipper. You know he can't hide his emotions- whatever he's feeling is written right there on his face. He isn't doing it on purpose. He just reacts with perfect honesty to whatever is troubling him at the time." She looked up at the Skipper, trying to meet his gaze full on. "In this case, it's those lobsters. He really thinks that somehow they're different to any other lobster we've ever eaten. He's just trying to spare them from their fate, that's all."

The Skipper's stomach grumbled louder than ever. "What about _my _fate?" he whimpered. "If I don't eat something soon, I'll die!"

Without exception, every one of the six castaways fixed their incredulous eyes on the Skipper's vast mid-region.

"In about fifty years," Mr. Howell remarked out of the side of his mouth while Lovey tried not to titter.

"Don't mock me," the Skipper shouted. "I'm a hard working ex Navy man! I need my protein!"

"There's plenty of protein in leafy greens," said the Professor, still smiling benignly.

"Do I look like Bugs Bunny?" the Skipper blustered.

"You look more like Elmer Fudd," said Mr. Howell.

"Thank you, Mr. Howell," the Skipper yelled, loudly. Then he lowered his voice, slightly embarrassed by his outburst. "Look, Professor. Leafy greens are fine now and again, but I don't intend to eat like a rabbit for the rest of my life. I need meat, and I need it now!"

The Professor folded his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits. "A hard working ex Navy man who throws tantrums like a 5 year old."

Mary Ann bowed her head, hiding the grin that threatened to break out.

"That does it," the Skipper barked. "I don't care what anyone else says. I know for a fact that if a plate full of steamed lobster was sitting there on the table right now, all juicy and plump and hot and covered in melted butter, every one of you would fall on it like a pack of hungry wolves!"

"He's got a point, Professor," Ginger said, flashing her beautiful green eyes at the man of science. "In fact, he's making me hungry just thinking about it."

"All juicy, and plump, and fresh, and glistening..." the Skipper continued, playing to his audience.

"Stop!" moaned Mr. Howell. "Stop this unspeakable torture!"

The Skipper's eyes flashed with sudden vigour. "Who's coming with me to find Gilligan?" he said, eyeing them all like a carnival barker. "Who's coming with me to find our fresh, juicy, steaming, delicious lobster?"

"Me!" cried both Mr. Howell and Ginger at once, raising their arms in the air.

"But what about Gilligan?" Mary Ann pleaded, grabbing the Skipper's sleeve. "What about what Gilligan wants?"

"Never mind what Gilligan wants," the Skipper replied, firmly. "Majority rules!"

"What majority? You, Mr. Howell and Ginger? Three out of seven isn't a majority!"

Mrs. Howell bit her rouged lip delicately. "Well, I am rather hungry too, dear..." she began, before trailing off and looking up at her husband.

"And Lovey makes four," Mr. Howell chortled, almost triumphantly. "Which, I do believe, makes it a majority."

Mary Ann flashed the Skipper a look of helpless anger. "You'll be sorry," she warned him.

"The only one who'll be sorry, is Gilligan," the Skipper answered. He plucked Mary Ann's hand away from his sleeve and disappeared into the Supply Hut. When he returned, he was armed with an array of Gilligan-catching devices ranging from fishing poles to butterfly nets. "These should do the trick!" he grinned, happily, handing them out to Mr. Howell, Lovey and Ginger.

Mary Ann watched helplessly as the millionaire, his wife and the movie star fell into line behind the Skipper like ducklings following their mother. When they were all in position, the small, rag tag procession started trooping across the clearing with fishing poles and nets protruding at all angles.

"But what if Gilligan's right about the lobsters?" the farm girl cried, desperately. "What will you do then?"

The Skipper's booming voice came wafting back to her through the trees. "Why, I'll throw him into the pot with them," he laughed.

Mary Ann's lips set into a grim line. She stood in the middle of the clearing with her hands on her hips, staring into the jungle. Hearing someone cough behind her, she turned and fixed her brown eyed glare onto the Professor, who was now the only one left at the huts besides her. "Aren't you going to stop them?" she demanded.

The Professor shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mary Ann. I'd be run over like an ant," he said, reasonably.

"Pacifist," Mary Ann muttered.

"No, I just value my own life over the lives of a pair of marine invertebrates," the Professor replied, gently.

Mary Ann rolled her eyes. "I wish you'd speak English," she muttered.

"I_ was_ speaking English," he smiled.

Mary Ann's eyes softened. As annoying as the Professor could be, it was hard to stay mad at him.

"Well, _I'm_ not going to stand around while the baying mob goes on a witch hunt after Gilligan," she said, firmly. "He's my friend and I have a duty to save him!"

oOoOoOo

Gilligan sat with his back against the rock face and his legs bent at the knee, feet placed firmly in the sand. The bucket sat his lap, cradled gently in his arms, with the two lobsters huddled in what remained of the water. All three lifeforms stared at each other in wonder and amazement.

"I can't believe I'm talking to a lobster," Gilligan uttered, incredulously.

"I can't believe I'm talking to a..." Claude broke off.

"Human," Gilligan smiled. "I'm a human being."

Claude blinked. "A human being what?"

Gilligan blinked too. "A human being a human being, I guess."

"I'm confused," said Claude.

Gilligan frowned and crossed his eyes. "Me, too."

"It's nice that we can understand each other though," said Claude. "Daddy can't make gill nor fin out of what you're saying."

Gilligan laughed. "I always was good with animals," he said, not at all self-consciously. "Some of them I can talk to easier than others, though. Like if they're lonely, or different, or the other animals don't always want to play with them." He thought about what he'd said for a few moments. "Animals that are a bit like me, I guess."

"Are you lonely?" asked Claude, his expression softening as much as an invertebrate's could.

Gilligan chewed his lips. He shrugged. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"What about your friends?"

"You can have friends and still be lonely." Gilligan scratched at his neck. Now he _was_ beginning to feel self-conscious.

Claude nodded. "That's true," he said. "I have friends and I get lonely, too. Momma thinks I should socialise more. But I always end up doing or saying something stupid, so I don't."

Gilligan nodded. "That sounds just like me. I'm clumsy and I break things, and they get mad at me."

Claude waved his feelers in sympathy. "I collect mollusk shells," he said, proudly. "I have the biggest collection of mollusk shells in the neighborhood. You know why?"

"Why?" asked Gilligan, sensing a joke.

"Because it's the only collection of mollusk shells in the neighborhood!" Claude chortled. "Everyone else thinks it's silly!"

Gilligan laughed too. "I collect all kinds of things. But then I lose them because my pockets have holes in them."

The little lobster laughed even harder. It sounded like a tiny, hissing squeak that made bubbles burst all around him "By what name are you called?" he asked, when he'd finally calmed down. "I can't call you Brittle Star forever."

"Gilligan," said Gilligan. He extended his forefinger. "Shake it, don't pinch it," he grinned.

Claude shook Gilligan's finger. "Nice to meet you, Gilligan. Sorry about pinching your finger earlier. I didn't know what was happening. I guess I overreacted."

"Nice to meet you too," said Gilligan. "And I'm sorry about kicking you up into the air like that. I didn't know what was happening, either, and I still don't."

Claude nodded his head. "All I know for sure is that I came looking for my Daddy, and I found him. Now we just need to get home."

Gilligan smiled at the larger lobster. "Should I call you Daddy, too?"

The larger lobster blew a few bubbles, and Claude laughed again. "He says if you get us home, you can call him anything you want."

"Home." Gilligan played with the word in his mouth, and a wistful look crept across his face. "I had a home once..."

Claude peered at him intently. "What do you mean? Isn't this place your home?"

Gilligan shook his head. "No, this is the island. This is where we ended up when we got shipwrecked."

"Ship...wrecked?"

"Yeah, it's when a ship...um, gets wrecked." Gilligan blinked. "That's doesn't make it any clearer does it?"

Claude shook his head.

"Ships are what people travel in on the ocean," Gilligan explained. "We can't breathe underwater and if we don't know how to swim then we can drown in it. That's why we need ships. But sometimes ships crash and break up and then the people get shipwrecked. They have to find somewhere that isn't water, or they'll die."

"That's the opposite of us," Claude said, eagerly. "If we can't find somewhere that _is _water, then _we_ die!"

"I won't let you die," Gilligan promised. "I may not be able to get home, but I'll make sure you and your Daddy get home. You can count on it."

The little lobster's eyes brightened. "You promise?"

Gilligan's smile widened. "I promise."

Claude waved his feelers gratefully. "So, Gilligan," he asked, "are you the only human being we can trust?"

"Well, kinda," Gilligan said, apologetically. "You see...how should I put it. In my world, we...well, we _eat_ lobsters." He screwed his face up as though the idea was suddenly repellent to him.

Claude gulped. "I knew it," he muttered. He told his father what Gilligan had said and the larger lobster blew some more bubbles. Claude looked shocked.

"What did he say?" asked Gilligan.

"I can't repeat it," said Claude. "He doesn't think much of it, put it that way."

"There is someone else you can trust," Gilligan smiled. "Her name is Mary Ann. You met her too, she's the one who caught you in the towel."

"She's nice," Claude agreed. "Is she your friend?"

Gilligan's expression grew dreamy. "Yeah, she is. Kind of."

Claude watched his human companion for a few moments, then tapped the side of the bucket with his pincers. "You okay, Gilligan?" he asked.

Gilligan blinked back to attention. A scarlet blush crept up his neck and made his cheeks go pink. "I'm fine," he stuttered. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Claude peered closely into his face. "I've seen that same look in a lobster's eyes," he said at last. "Maybe we're not so different after all."

"Anyhow," Gilligan said, anxious to change the subject. "You can trust Mary Ann- as long as she's not being told what to do by the Skipper. He's the big fat one you met, the one that wants to eat you. Well, and Mr. Howell, he wants to eat you too. Skipper was the captain of the boat that brought us here, and he tells everyone what to do. And that's why we have to be careful. A hungry Skipper is a dangerous Skipper, but as long as all three of us keep our eyes open, we should be okay."

All the while Gilligan was talking, he didn't hear the rustling in the bushes high above him, or the suspiciously ominous Skipperlike chuckle. He didn't notice that a long nylon line with a large fish hook tied to the end of it had started descending down the side of the rock face towards him. Occasionally it caught on something in its path- a stone, a small branch or a protruding root, and performed an erratic, jerky dance to free itself before resuming its silent descent. Closer and closer it came to the handle of the bucket, and all the while Gilligan carried on talking.

"I was the lookout on our ship- well, it wasn't so much of a ship, it was just a little charter boat," he babbled. "So you can count on me to spot danger a mile away. Which is fine if danger is a mile away, but if it's any closer than that, we're in trouble." He laughed feebly, a small, forced giggle that raised a few polite bubbles from Claude and his father, once the joke had been explained. Meanwhile, the hook was now at eye level.

"What's that?" asked Claude, suddenly.

"What's what?" Gilligan frowned, puzzled.

"That thing," Claude said, pointing his pincer at the hook. "Is that trouble?"

The fish hook glinted in the sunlight and Gilligan finally noticed it, hanging right in front of his eyes. "Oh my gosh!" he exclaimed, his eyes bulging. "That sure is trouble- trouble with a capital T!" He scrabbled out of the way of the dangling line, shot to his feet and looked up the rock face to try and see where it was coming from. Shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun, he caught a glimpse of blue polo shirt and black Captain's cap through the leafy greenery. "What did I tell you? It's the Skipper!" he muttered, angrily. "I didn't think they'd follow us all the way out here, but I guess I was wrong!"

With trembling hands, Gilligan set the bucket on the ground and took the lobsters out of it as gently as he could. He looked around quickly, located two rocks of a similar size to the confused crustaceans, and placed the rocks into the bucket. Then he lifted the bucket and slipped the handle over the hook. The hook settled into place as the unseen fisherman tested the weight on the end of the line, and then the bucket slowly began to lift into the air.

"Happy eating, Skipper," Gilligan grinned, tipping his hat.

The bucket clanked its merry way up the rock face. Meanwhile, Gilligan tucked his rugby shirt into his waistband all the way around, making sure there were no gaps. He then picked up Claude and his Daddy and looked them straight in the eye. "We'd better get going," he said, gravely. "I'm gonna have to put you down the front of my shirt to keep you safe and out of the sun until we get to water. Promise you won't pinch me?"

Claude nodded, and raised a pincer to his head. "Shrimp's Honor," he said, obediently.

"Okay," said Gilligan. "That's good enough for me."

Gilligan stretched out his collar, placed the lobsters down his shirt front, and settled them as comfortably as he could. He took one last look up the rock face, then he straightened his hat, set his jaw, and resumed his perilous journey through the jungle.

A few moments after Gilligan and the lobsters had departed, a loud, booming wail came thundering out of the bushes at the top of the rock face, a wail full of disappointment and frustration followed by the clanking of an empty bucket being thrown forcefully to the ground.

"_Giiillliiggaaaaaaannnn!_"


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Claude peeked out of Gilligan's collar as the First Mate picked his way along the overgrown jungle path. "Does everyone in your world eat lobsters?" he asked.

"No, not everyone," Gilligan replied, tucking in his chin so that he could see the little lobster's face. "But everyone on this island does."

"That's what I meant," said Claude. "I don't know of any other worlds."

Gilligan smiled. "Well, like I said, this island is where we ended up after we were shipwrecked. There is another world out there, a world even bigger than this one."

"Even bigger?" the little lobster's eyes widened.

"Yep, even bigger," said Gilligan. "But you know what? You might not believe this, Claude, but your world is the biggest one of all. There's more ocean covering this planet than there is land. There's more of your kind than there is of mine. I bet you didn't know that."

Claude peered out of Gilligan's collar at the passing scenery. "No, I did not know that," he murmured.

"That's why we fish," Gilligan said. "That's why we eat your kind, because we figure that there'll always be enough of you. Of course now we know that's not true- if we fish too much, your kind won't be able to keep up with the hunger of our kind."

"Like your friend, the Skipper," said Claude.

"Just like the Skipper," Gilligan smiled. "Imagine a whole world full of hungry Skippers!"

"It would be a disaster," Claude muttered.

Gilligan nodded. "There'd be nothing left," he agreed.

Claude watched the sky flashing past through the overhanging branches. "We call this place the Big Blue," he said. "We're scared of it, because no one ever comes back."

"Well, now you know what happens," Gilligan replied.

"I guess I do," Claude said, quietly. "Thank you for being honest."

Gilligan lifted his hand and stroked the little lobster's pincer affectionately. "I'll always be truthful with you, Claude. But don't be too worried- I know it's hard to understand, but even though they want to eat you, they don't hate you."

Claude blinked up at his human friend. "That's not much consolation, Gilligan, but thank you anyway."

Gilligan jumped over a fallen tree log. "Don't you guys eat each other in your world, too?"

"Yeah," Claude said, quietly. "We have octopuses and sharks and stuff like that. Momma's favourite saying is, 'it's a fish-eat-fish world out there'." He sank down against Gilligan's chest. "It's hard being a lobster sometimes," he sighed, sounding older than his years.

"It's hard being a human, too," Gilligan agreed. "Doing stuff we know is wrong, but doing it anyway."

"Is there anything in your world that eats humans?" the little lobster asked.

Gilligan thought for a moment. "Headhunters," he replied, with a shudder. "Headhunters are humans who eat other humans."

"Yikes," said Claude, and he shuddered too.

"And tigers," Gilligan went on. "But we don't have any tigers here."

Claude opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it. A few more moments passed in silence while Gilligan made his way carefully down the path.

"How's your Daddy doing? He's being awful quiet," the First Mate said at last.

"He's okay," Claude replied. "He's thinking."

"Thinking about home, I'll bet. That's what I always think about. Mom and Dad and my brother and sister and even my dog. I think about them all the time."

"It's hard to be away from home," said Claude.

"Yeah," said Gilligan. "It is."

The path narrowed and became more rocky. Gilligan kept his eyes peeled to the ground as he jumped and skipped over fallen branches and small boulders, hugging the lobsters close to his body with both arms.

"What's a dog?" asked Claude, presently.

"A dog is a furry creature with four legs. We keep them as pets."

"Do they eat lobsters too?"

"They eat anything," said Gilligan. "They're greedy."

Claude made a clicking noise with his face plates. "It seems like everything eats lobsters," he said, miserably. "We must taste real good, huh."

Gilligan pursed his lips and the corners of his mouth turned down. "I used to think so," he muttered, guiltily. "Until I met one I could talk to."

Gilligan came out of the jungle into a small clearing. With his eyes still scanning the ground, he came upon two strange looking rocks. Two slender, pointed, glittery silver rocks that matched each other perfectly.

"What the- ?" he mumbled.

"Hello, Gilligan," came the sultry tones of Ginger Grant, movie star.

Gilligan raised his eyes from the tips of Ginger's high heeled shoes. His gaze travelled up her legs, over her voluptuous hips clad in shimmering gold fabric, past her slender waist and ample cleavage, and finally settled on her perfect, oval face.

"Hi, Ginger," he said, resignedly.

Ginger sashayed closer. Gilligan pushed the two lobsters round his body and into the small of his back where they nestled against the base of his spine. He backed away warily from Ginger.

"Gilligan," Ginger sang, seductively, "what have you done with those two adorable, itty bitty, cute little lobster wobsters?"

"I hid them," Gilligan said, assertively. "So that none of you can eat them!"

Ginger's lower lip protruded. "But I just want to see them," she pouted.

"Yeah, like a cat wants to see a mouse," Gilligan retorted.

Ginger sidled even closer. "Oh, Gilligan! That's not very nice! I thought we were friends?"

"Yeah, so did I," Gilligan muttered, retreating still further.

"Come on, Gilligan." Ginger extended her smooth, ivory skinned hand and ran her slender fingers slowly up Gilligan's arm and onto his shoulder. "You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours." Her fingernails began to scrape gently on Gilligan's shoulderblade.

Gilligan shrugged his shoulder and edged away from Ginger's hand. "No thanks," he said, tersely. "Remember what happened the last time you scratched my back? I got into a whole mess of trouble!"

Ginger tilted her chin and laughed musically. "But I found your sweet spot, didn't I?"

Gilligan felt his neck go hot. "Yeah, you did. And that's why I'm never letting you do it again!"

Ginger's green eyes narrowed playfully. Gilligan's reluctance didn't seem to deter her one bit- she kept moving closer and closer until she was practically in the First Mate's arms.

"How about a little kiss?" she uttered, pursing her lips. Her fingers traced over Gilligan's torso, making him squirm.

At the same time, unbeknownst to the teasing temptress, Claude was crawling his way up Gilligan's back, using his pincers to hold onto the fabric of the First Mate's undershirt.

"Ha ha ha!" Gilligan laughed, suddenly. "That tickles!"

Ginger grinned, thinking he meant her. She dug her fingertips gently into Gilligan's ribs. "How about that?" she purred.

"That tickles, too!" Gilligan giggled, as Claude reached his armpit.

Ginger gave a breathy laugh. "I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking, Gilligan," she smiled. "Now, about that little kiss..."

Ginger rested her hands on Gilligan's chest with her slim fingers spread across his shirt. She put her face right in front of Gilligan's and formed her plump, pink lips into a perfect 'o'. Just as she leaned forward to plant a wet one on Gilligan's mouth, Claude emerged from the open neck of Gilligan's collar and snapped his pincer loudly, right in front of her nose.

The movie star screamed in horror and jerked her head back. "What on earth?" she cried.

"Ginger, meet Claude," Gilligan grinned, triumphantly.

"_Claude_?" Ginger fixed the little lobster with a glittering green eyed stare. "That...that _thing_ has a name?"

Claude stared back at Ginger and then looked up at Gilligan. "Is that a tiger?" he asked.

"No," Gilligan replied, his hand placed protectively over his little friend. "Tigers are less dangerous."

"I'll give you 'Claude'," said Ginger, her eyes flashing. She reached for a butterfly net that she had hidden behind a nearby coconut tree. "Or better still, you'll give _me _Claude, and we can go back to camp and pretend none of this ever happened!"

"No can do, Ginger," Gilligan responded. "I'm not letting any of you eat these lobsters. Friends don't eat friends!"

Ginger moved forward, clutching the handle of the butterfly net. "They aren't my friends," she said, stubbornly. "They're my dinner!"

"Look!" cried Gilligan, suddenly pointing into the air above Ginger's right shoulder. "Rock Hudson in a helicopter!"

Ginger dropped the butterfly net and whirled around, instinctively striking a Hollywood pose, her teeth gleaming whitely in a perfect, silver screen smile. When she saw that there was nothing there but jungle and more jungle, she realised she'd been tricked. She spun back around to find that Gilligan and the lobsters were gone.

"Ooh!" she hissed, her fingers clenching into fists. "Ooh, that little..."

"He got you too, huh, Ginger?" came a familiar, gruff voice from behind her. The Skipper came trotting into the clearing clutching the empty bucket, which now had a big dent in it from being hurled to the ground in a temper.

Ginger threw her arms in the air. "I can't understand it, Skipper! When did Gilligan get so smart?"

The Skipper lifted an eyebrow. "Rock Hudson in a helicopter?"

Ginger's face fell. "I guess the question ought to be- when did I get so dumb?"

The Skipper patted the crestfallen movie star's shoulder. "Never mind, Ginger," he said, sympathetically. "He tricked me too. The hunger must be slowing our brains down."

"So what's Gilligan's excuse?" Ginger pouted, as the two of them left the clearing in the same direction as Gilligan.

"Gilligan?" the Skipper grinned. "His brain was slow to begin with!"

oOoOoOo

Not so far away, Mary Ann was making her way into the jungle, looking for Gilligan to warn him that the others were on his trail. She also wanted to apologise to him for making it look as though she was take their side over the lobsters. She wanted to tell him that her friendship with him was too important to ruin it with silly arguments. No other boy she'd ever met would think twice about whether a lobster had a consciousness or not. Any other boy would have thought it was sissy to talk to animals the way Gilligan did, as if he could understand everything they were saying.

There were so many things she wanted to tell Gilligan. There always had been.

Even further away, but catching up quickly, the Professor was making _his_ way into the jungle. He couldn't let Mary Ann go wandering off on her own, not in the mood she was in. He'd seen that look on her face before- that look of grim determination. It was like a female version of Gilligan's look of grim determination. Besides, he couldn't stay at the huts all by himself, it just didn't feel right.

He smiled to himself as he picked his way gingerly through the undergrowth. _At last I got what I wanted, a bit of peace and quiet, and suddenly I don't want it any more. _

oOoOoOo

"So who was that, Gilligan?"

Gilligan wasn't sure, but he thought there was a hint of teasing in the little lobster's voice.

"That was Ginger Grant," Gilligan sighed.

"Does she like you?" Claude pressed.

"Only when she wants something," Gilligan said, wearily.

"So she's not like Mary Ann, then," Claude persisted.

Gilligan snorted loudly. "She's as much like Mary Ann as you're like a killer whale."

"Wow," said Claude. "That's not alike at all!"

"Ginger's a movie star, she acts all the time," Gilligan went on. "Movies are when people act like other people in front of a camera. The camera makes a movie out of them and you watch the movie on a giant screen in a place called a movie theatre. It's called 'entertainment'."

Claude held on to Gilligan's collar as the First Mate jogged along the path. He watched avidly as the sights and sounds of the jungle streaked past.

"Are we in a movie?" he asked.

"No," said Gilligan. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you sure are keeping me entertained!" Claude laughed, and tapped Gilligan affectionately on the cheek.

Gilligan smiled wryly. "I'm glad you're having fun while I'm busy trying to keep us all out of trouble."

Claude nestled his head in the hollow behind Gilligan's collarbone. "I can't wait to tell everyone back home about you," he said. "Daddy thinks I'm crazy talking to you, he says he never had a nightmare like this, even after the seaweed juice."

Gilligan chuckled. "Your Daddy sounds like the Skipper, kinda."

Claude laughed delightedly. "Yeah," he replied. "It's a shame they can't be friends."

Gilligan laughed too. "Maybe it's a relief they can't be friends," he grinned. "But we don't know yet- the Skipper would change his mind if he knew how swell you guys were!"

Some more time passed in companionable silence.

"You know," said Claude, "in my world, we hear such terrible stories about the Big Blue. But from what I can see, the Big Blue is also beautiful, too."

Gilligan looked down at his little lobster friend. "It's funny how you call my world 'the Big Blue'. I guess you mean the sky. Because to us, your world is also a big blue, and very beautiful, and yet plenty of my kind disappear into your world and never come back."

"Like when they get shipwrecked?" asked Claude, his eyes wide.

"Yeah," Gilligan answered. "Shipwrecked, drowned, or eaten by sharks."

"Sharks must be like tigers," said Claude. "Everyone's afraid of them."

"Danger lies everywhere," Gilligan nodded, sagely.

Claude fell silent. Then he began to tell Gilligan about the Cage of Death and The Moving Pillars of Doom.

"You mean my legs?" Gilligan said, incredulously. "My legs are the Moving Pillars of Doom?"

Claude nodded.

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," the First Mate mused. "I'm not a bad guy. I just..." his face fell. "I just collect the lobster traps."

Claude swallowed nervously. "The Cages of Death," he uttered in a small voice.

Gilligan's heart sank. "I can see why those legends exist," he said, mournfully. "I don't know how I can ever apologise."

"It's not your fault," said Claude, stroking the side of Gilligan's neck. "You didn't know."

Gilligan's jaw set tight. "I feel like destroying every lobster trap we ever built," he said, grimly.

Claude's feelers trembled at Gilligan's sudden flash of anger. "Well, at least you've told me what they are. We thought they were mysterious living creatures."

"You know what?" Gilligan said, determinedly. "Any time I have to set a lobster trap in the future, I'm gonna make sure there's an escape route. People don't like being caught in traps, so why should we do it to you guys? I'll make sure the trap door opens up just enough for you to get out."

"That would be swell and all," said Claude, "but why set them in the first place?"

"Because," said Gilligan, "I won't be able to convince the others to live on bananas and coconuts for the rest of their lives. I'll just fix the traps, and you tell all your buddies to stay away from them. And if I come out and find any of you in the traps, I'll set you free."

"I don't know what to say," Claude said, in his tiny voice. "You'd rather go against your kind to help my kind? That takes guts."

"I don't know if it's guts," Gilligan replied. "It's just something I want to do. Besides, I love bananas, and I love Mary Ann's coconut crème pies. I could happily live on those two things forever."

"You're a great guy, Gilligan," said Claude, snuggling into Gilligan's chest. "You're welcome in my world any time. I'll tell everyone about you and you'll be a hero!"

Gilligan's ears pricked up and a grin spread across his face. "A hero? Gosh, I've always wanted to be a hero!"

"Well, now you are," laughed Claude. "You're _my_ hero."

Gilligan leapt over a tree stump and began to run with a new spring in his step. He could see the ocean sparkling through the trees and knew he'd soon be at his destination.

He was so busy looking at the ocean that he didn't see two figures lurking in the bushes just ahead. Two figures wearing pith helmets and safari suits, and brandishing a butterfly net.

"Here he comes, Lovey," the millionaire chuckled, keeping his beady eye on the approaching First Mate. "Get ready!"


End file.
